Prelude: An Ada Wong story
by ShiningScribbler
Summary: Takes place shortly before Resident Evil 2. A young spy makes her way across a deteriorating Raccoon City searching for a reporter with vital information wanted by her employers. Faced with increasing odds, an agent with her own agenda, the night will hold horrors and trials that will forge her into the world's most infamous international spy: the one and only Ada Wong . . .
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: It's here. I've been wanting to tell this story for quite a while. The first act of a three part story. Enjoy the ride. **

**Prelude: **_**An Ada Wong Story**_

_What are you fighting? _

**Whatever the hell gets in my way. **

- Ada Wong, _Resident Evil 6 _

**Raccoon City, Zero Hour **

_The Raccoon City Tribune_

He was old, but that wasn't why I disliked him.

The man's name was Bernard Lowell and he was the editor-in-chief of _The Raccoon City Tribune_, the city's most prominent newspaper. His office was opulent and excessive; everywhere your eyes fell, there lay somewhere framed award or picture with a famous politician/celebrity. Hideous trinkets and gifts from the various VIPs he knew littered about on shelves or in glass cases in a manner that someone apparently decided was tasteful. Dozens more frames adorned the office walls, each featuring some news article that had garnered awards in some bizarre trophy display – even though such articles had come at the impressive efforts of his reporters, neither of whom held any love for their editor-in-chief, but where forced to work for him if they were to receive any sort of recognition in the world of journalism. His desk was ornate and large, made from some dark wood that I didn't recognize, with intricate designs built into each of the corners. A cabinet in the left corner of the office held a significant cache of liquors and wines, presumably to entertain any important guests that came to visit.

Opulent and excessive, just like the man himself - who resembled, if nothing else, a large red potato. His suit was ill-fitting, but expensive, the buttons straining against the fabric. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air-conditioning; watery blue eyes stared out from a round, red face that came from drinking too much, too frequently.

Bernard Lowell was one of those rare combinations of someone who rose to a high position of power despite a high degree of incompetence. Any reporter outside his office, working away in the bullpen, was twice the journalist than he could ever hope to be. He couldn't find a story if it bit him in his enormous rear.

No, it wasn't because he was old that I disliked him.

It was because he was old _and _stupid.

Unfortunately, I had to be sweet to him. The job came first, and he had information that I was looking for.

"Let's try this again," I said to him. "Ben Bertolucci. He's one of your reporters: I need to find him."

Lowell waved a meaty hand carelessly. "Look, Miss – I didn't catch your name?"

"Because I didn't give it. Try to focus, Mr. Lowell, if it isn't too much for you."

The insult went over his head. "Lady, I'm in charge of a lot of reporters, all running around, getting me leads and stories. Do you even know what's happening in Raccoon City right now? All these riots; rumors of cannibalism in the street! You can't expect me to keep track of them all."

My trigger finger itched madly. I ignored it. "My employers will reward you handsomely if you help me out."

He paused at that statement. "I already have money."

"Not the kind of money my employers currently possess."

Lowell considered that for a moment and then said, "What if I want something else?"

"Name it."

The fat man's face grew lively at that thought, and I felt my distaste for the man grow. I had done my research on him and some of his activities tended to be lewd. The way his eyes kept centering on me only further added to his high creep factor. The sooner I was done with the man, the better for him to stay unhurt.

He shook his head after awhile and said, "How do I know you'll keep your word?"

My patience was beginning to fray. "I always keep my promises, Mr. Lowell. You must have records. Consult them."

"Records of what?"

_Count to ten. Breathe. _

"Records of your employees. Addresses, contacts, phone numbers?"

Lowell scrunched up his face, considered that thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I might have something like that."

_Finally. _"If you could let me see them, then?"

Lowell tapped a button on his desk and spoke into an intercom. "Janice? Janice, I need you to hop over to Admin and find Bertolucci's file."

The intercom squawked, but there was no other answer.

"Janice? Janice!" Lowell slammed a fist into his desk. "I swear to God, if she's taking another smoke break . . ."

I was spared the rest of his rant when an explosion drowned out all other noise. We were safe on the fifth floor of the building, but the building shook slightly nonetheless. Lowell did an odd jump out of his chair, falling to the floor in a messy heap. Ignoring his loud oaths, I stepped quickly to the window, wincing at the glare from the blaze below.

"What the hell happened?" Lowell, groggy from his fall, but otherwise uninjured.

I felt mildly disappointed. He wasn't even suffering from a concussion.

"Two cars just pancaked each other on the street." I narrowed my eyes, making out dozens of figures below surrounding the scene. "Looks like a mob is gathering around the accident."

"This whole goddamn city is coming apart! Riots, murders, and the police are nowhere to be found – where the hell are my reporters? They need to get on this!" Lowell, energized by the prospect of another story to sell, moved with a speed and purpose that seemed incompatible with his body type. I moved towards him, intending to remind him of his prior obligation to me. He threw open the door –

A diminutive woman stood there, her glasses askew, hair mussed. Lowell almost crashed into her, took a step back, and blinked his piggish eyes until he recognized her. "Janice! Where they hell have you been, you stupid woman!"

Something was wrong. Janice just stood there, eyes not seeing, mouth slightly agape – a red substance dripped from her chin –

I was already moving toward Lowell, some instinct within screaming at me but it was too late.

Janice made a gurgling sound and grabbed at Lowell. He was still yelling when her mouth opened wide, impossibly wide and took a chunk out of Lowell's throat.

Blood spilled in a torrent. The two collapsed onto the floor, wet, sickly tearing sounds filling the room. Before I could reach them both, two more like Janice entered the room.

I lashed out with a kick at one, a tall, broad shouldered man of Asian descent with thinning hair breaking his neck. He stumbled backwards into his companion, a dark-skinned woman with vacant eyes and a blood-stained mouth.

Instead of dying though, the man made a groaning noise and shuffled towards me once more. Only this time, his neck lay at a grotesque angle, his head flopping about uselessly on his shoulders like a flaccid limb.

My stomach twisted at the sight. "Well," I muttered. "This is new."

_Time for Plan B. _I took out my gun and pumped a round into each of their foreheads. Both went down and did not move again. Moving cautiously, I kicked at each one several times to ensure that they were not playing possum.

Satisfied that they weren't, I hunched down and studied their profiles. They each suffered from a bite mark – the man on the cheek, the woman on her arm.

"So Umbrella really did do it," I murmured.

The T-virus – my employers had suspected that an outbreak was a question of when, not if, and had correctly assumed that it would occur in Raccoon City. Something had sped up Umbrella's plans though, since projections had the infection spreading much, much later. If it was here now . . .

John. I needed to find him.

But first, I had to find reporter Ben Bertolucci. I stood up, went over to where Lowell struggled with what was once Janice and shot her in the head. She slumped and toppled over, giving me access to the fat man beneath. I pulled him further into the office and latched his door shut to prevent any other infected from getting in.

His wound wasn't the worst one I've seen in my line of work, but not by much. His eyes jerked erratically and he reeked desperation from his every pore. He was bleeding out fast, and didn't have much time.

"Help . . . please." His voice was barely audible.

"So you can talk. Where is the file room, Mr. Lowell?"

His meaty hands scrabbled to cover his wound, but I knew that he had mere minutes left to him. Any heartbeats he had remaining were strictly a formality at this point.

"It . . . hurts."

"The file room, Mr. Lowell. I need to get to it. Is it on this floor?"

He grabbed at me, his eyes practically shouting his terror. "The pain – please . . . it hurts."

"Focus, Mr. Lowell and I can help you. Where is the file room?"

His eyes became glazed, unfocused, and he began to make gargling noises. "The . . . pain. Hurts so much."

I caressed his face gently in soothing circles and put on a sympathetic face. "Would you like me to take away the pain?"

Lowell nodded.

I placed my gun squarely in his shoulder and fired. He would have screamed if it weren't for my hand muffling his mouth. His body bucked and arched, but I held him firm. I looked the fat man in the eyes and said, "I lied. Now, listen to me Mr. Lowell. You are going to die, that is a fact. You may think that nothing matters anymore, but I assure you that right now a choice remains. You can die quickly and relatively pain free or you can die in tremendous agony, because if you do not help me achieve what I need, I will hurt you in the short time remaining in your pathetic life. Do you understand?"

I removed my hand from his mouth.

He spat at me. I calmly wiped it off, placed my hand over his mouth again, and twisted my gun in his wound.

I counted to ten, and then stopped. "That was not a yes, Mr. Lowell. I will repeat the question: Do you understand?"

He nodded vigorously. I smiled sweetly at him. "Good. Now is the file room on this floor? A nod or shake of your head will be fine since you can't speak with all that blood filling your throat."

Lowell shook his head.

Damn. I didn't want to stay in this building any longer than I had to, but I needed to find where Bertolucci lived in case he left something of value there.

"Is it on the floor above or below?"

Instead of answering, Lowell's head began to droop. The blood loss was beginning to take its toll.

"Pay attention, Mr. Lowell," I said and shoved my gun into his shoulder wound once more. He jerked to consciousness with satisfying speed. I repeated the question and his eyes flicked up.

"Thank you, Mr. Lowell." I patted his face in an affectionate manner.

"Will you . . . help me?"

"Of course. I always keep my promises, Mr. Lowell. Now close your eyes."

I didn't want to waste bullets, so I settled for a more physical approach. Gripping the sides of his head, the break was quick and clean.

I wiped my hands on his expensive suit and left for the sixth floor.

The offices of _The Raccoon City Tribune _were empty, save for a few scattered infected that were easily dispatched with a significant blow to the head thanks to the fire axe I had acquired on the way up. It seems that the reporters had all fled, taking few possessions with them as they did so.

_Good luck to us all. We're going to need it tonight. _

The door to the sixth floor opened with a creak as it opened, and I held my axe at the ready, expecting the worst.

Nothing came and I pressed forward. Desks and chairs lay strewn about and countless papers littered the floor. At the end of the room, I spotted the door that said ADMINISTRATION and moved towards it, caution preventing me from sprinting forward.

My instincts screamed at me to run and high-tail it out of there, but in a rare moment of exception, I ignored them. Crouching behind an overturned desk, I grabbed a sizeable book and threw it into the room's center. It landed with an audible _thunk_.

I was right to do so.

Five infected popped up, curious at the noise. It wasn't long before they started shuffling towards the noise. Instead of popping them all in the head, I decided to conserve bullets and instead moved quickly, but quietly towards the ADMIN door, keeping eyes on them the whole time.

Crossing the room at a brisk pace took less than a minute. It was clear that although the infected returned to life, they did not return with their intelligence intact. Their movements reminded me of cattle, but even a stampede could kill if they were properly motivated.

Certain that the infected wouldn't be turning in my direction any time soon, I turned around –

Something grabbed at my foot, causing me to look down.

An infected was about to much on my leg. I slammed my axe down on its head, or would have if it hadn't pulled at that precise moment. I fell flat on my back.

The commotion caught the attention of the other infected in the room. Gritting my teeth, I kicked at the infected grabbing my leg. "These – are – new – shoes!" I hissed, punctuating each word with a kick. Its face caved in after the last kick, but the hand remained gripped on my leg. I scrambled for the axe, which had landed somewhere to my left after the fall.

The other infected were coming closer, their speed increasing at the sight of me. "Now it's turning into a party," I said.

My hand found the axe's handle and I swung it at the infected arm still gripping my leg. It came off. An infected grabbed at my face; still on my back, I kicked out and caught it on the chin. It fell over and I hurried to stand and face the others.

I aimed the fire axe and it landed with a wet, meaty sound on one, cleaving its head into two. Another was getting too close to my left, I swerved to attack –

The axe was stuck in the other one's head. "Damn it!"

No choice. I drew my gun and put it point blank into the infected. It fell.

I heard more groaning, saw the stairwell door open; a flood of infected came inside. They must have heard the gunshot.

With a final effort, I wrenched the axe free and swung it at another infected to my right. The upper half of its head sliced clean off. The group from the stairwell began moving forward – I lined up a shot and fired into the crowd, aiming at the leaders. They fell and the ones behind them tripped over their bodies, slowing the mob of infected down.

I had bought myself some time. I took care of one last infected with another swing of the axe, threw open the ADMIN door, and stepped inside. The latch clicked with a satisfying click when I shut it, but I knew that the safety was temporary; the door wasn't meant to withstand a whole mob.

I made sure that the file room was empty before sifting through any files. Once I was sure that it was so, I opened the nearest file cabinet and started looking for Ben Bertolucci.

Three file cabinets and several tense minutes later, I found his file and the address of his apartment. It was on the other side of the city, and with the infection spreading across the city, a suicidal venture on foot.

_Good thing I've got a ride waiting. _

A chirp at my side got my attention, and I took out my communicator device – a blocky, ungainly piece of equipment that was the prototype of a new type of wireless phone. "I'm here," I said into the machine.

The female voice that came back was scratchy and tinged with static, but I understood it. "About time. It's getting a little hairy out here in case you haven't noticed. Have you located Bertolucci?"

"No, his boss was useless. But I did manage to attain his apartment address from his employee record."

"It'll do, I suppose. Be quick about it, Victoria. The city's not getting any safer."

"Of course, Maxine. On my way out." The call ended.

_Victoria. _Not the first false name I've used in my line of work and certainly not the last. The people I worked for required that we use falsified names as extra precautions in the field. The names used were personal choices of the agents, small figments from their own lives; it was the only truths we allowed ourselves in a career that demanded constant deception. Maxine chose her name from a cellist she admired.

Victoria was the name of the first boat I ever sailed on. Stupid, I know, but I had no one I admired or liked.

Except one. But I didn't dare use her name.

A noise outside the door returned my thoughts to present matters. I pocketed the communicator and pressed my ear to the door.

I didn't need to. A loud bang caused me to jerk my head back and it was soon accompanied by an eerie chorus of moaning that raised the hairs on my neck. I shivered at what lay in the room beyond.

"Not going out that way," I said to myself. A window at the corner of the room caught my eye. Opening it, I found a fire escape that led straight to the dark alleyway below. It was clear thanks to the gate at the alleyway's opening, but that could change soon. I closed the window behind me and made my way down, taking care to be discreet as I did so.

Maxine was waiting with our car at the end of the alleyway. She waved at me impatiently. I made my way towards her.

A movement to my right caught my eye. What I had assumed was a pile of garbage turned out to be a woman, clutching at her midsection. She had an open, honest face with few lines and wrinkles; a ring on her finger indicated marriage – gray strands in her brown hair told me she had kids.

The gash in her side leaking blood told me she was dying.

I felt a strange tightening in my chest. The woman looked at me, and to my surprise she did not beg or plead as Lowell did so. The expression on her face was one of resignation and grim resolve. She opened her mouth to speak and I cut her off. "Don't tell me your name. It'll make it easier that way," I said in a harsh tone.

She nodded, although I couldn't tell if that made any sense to her. "Then I won't," she said wearily. "But I will ask you for a favor. Please."

I knelt in front of her. "I can't save you."

"I know – I know that!" The strength in her voice was like iron. "But please, I don't want to turn into one of those things. I don't want to come back and hurt my husband or child."

"Victoria!" Maxine's voice sounded urgent. "We need to go, now!"

I closed my eyes, the tightness in my chest increasing. "Don't ask me to do this."

_There will be more than enough killing to be done when this night is over. _

"You are my last chance to make sure – please. I can't do it myself. Promise me you'll do this."

_And we keep our promises, don't we_, whispered a poisonous little voice in my heart.

"Victoria!"

I took out my gun. Aimed it.

She never stopped looking at me. A small, contented smile – so odd, so out of place in this nightmarish situation – spread over her weary face.

"Thank you."

I returned the smile with all the energy I could muster. If she was going to go, it would be with a friendly face. "Thanking me," I said, not quite stopping the quiver in my voice. "That's new."

I squeezed the trigger.

* * *

It was only afterwards, in the car with Maxine on our way to Bertolucci's apartment, that I began to relax. We had been driving in almost complete silence, only speaking about the current state of the city.

It was a mess. Raccoon City was turning into hell, quite literally. We passed burning buildings, deserted cars, mobs of infected, and the bodies of police officers who had tried to quell the uprising panic. Random looters and rioters still filled the street, smashing and taking whatever they could. Everyone was running, or hiding, but no one was trying to help.

I shuddered inwardly. Not all the bodies we passed were policemen. Some of them were small, hands still clutching their favorite toy or stuffed animal.

"They're not worth saving," Maxine noted, her tone disgusted.

"More words of wisdom from Saint Maxine," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Oh and you are? Saint Victoria, ending the life of that mother back in the alleyway. Such an act of heroism."

I gritted my teeth, biting back the retort that was forming in my mouth. Maxine, the partner I never asked for on this mission. Arrogant, snobby, and completely amoral she, unfortunately, had the skills to back up her outrageous claims. Somehow I got the feeling that she was sent here to keep an eye on me, rather than actually help get the job done. She considered herself the better agent, and I let her think that, preferring to have the element of surprise when I finally got the chance to slap the bitch down.

I hoped it would be tonight.

Maxine swerved to avoid an upturned vehicle, uttering a nasty oath as she did. "You cost us time, you know. Every minute we lose, the closer the government gets to razing the city."

I shook my head. "It won't come to that. There are still people to evacuate."

"Is that optimism? Coming from Victoria? Have you finally become a good person?"

I pointed my gun at her head. "Maxine," I said, politely, "shut the hell up."

"Continue pointing that gun at my head and I will crash this car with the both of us in it," replied Maxine calmly.

After a few tense seconds, I slowly lowered my gun. "I knew you wouldn't do it," sneered Maxine. "Good people have so many rules, it's a wonder they get anything important done - "

I whipped the butt of my gun against her head. The car bucked and swerved, but Maxine eventually regained control. She touched the side of her face; blood trickled down from the cut that was now there. "You hit me," she said in wonderment.

"I am not a good person. Good people don't need rules." I let my words become frosted with an icy edge. "If you continue to push your luck with me tonight, you'll see why I have so many."

"Hmph," said Maxine. "Very well, then." Her tone was unimpressed, but I detected a slight degree of respect that was not present before.

I closed my eyes as we passed another group of people – a family by the looks of it. Their faces were scared and haggard. A man, the father I'm guessing, caught sight of the car and began to wave his arms frantically and started shouting. Maxine stopped to maneuver around some debris and wreckage lying in road, and within a few minutes we were on our way again.

We didn't stop. They became dots of blackness in the rearview mirror.

"Almost done, Victoria," said Maxine.

I reclined my seat and didn't answer. Best to conserve my energy now while I still could, since I knew better.

The night was only beginning.

* * *

**Author's Note: I've been itching to tell this story for a long time. For all you asking, where's Ada? It's kind of obvious since the title specifically says "An Ada Wong story". She's here in the story. And yet, she's not. This is Ada before we met her in Resident Evil 2; before Leon could work his magic on her - much more remorseless, brutal, and a much scarier person than we're accustomed to. Also, she's not bearing the name Ada Wong. I thought of this story of how she ends up taking that name and what it means to her to do so. Also, I forgot how easy it is to write in first person - I think I'll do that for future stories, 'cause third person is a pain to do. As always, read, review, and spread the word. See you in the second act, and don't worry - Leon and Claire will pop up, but only at the end. **

**Sincerely, **

**ShiningScribbler**

**P.S. - Don't forget to check out my other works: Bastion and the Hunnigan Files! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: The Second Act. Enjoy the ride. **

**Prelude: **_**An Ada Wong Story**_

**The Second Act**

**Raccoon City, Zero Hour **

_Club Apartments _

We reached the apartment after twenty minutes.

Maxine parked the car in an accessible place, one that was easy to reach in the event of an emergency. It wasn't hard to find parking – the lot to Bertolucci's apartment complex was completely empty. Everyone had gotten wind of the infection spreading throughout the city it seems. Stepping out the car, I spotted various debris and detritus strewn about – a family photo, still encased in an expensive looking silver frame; a stuffed animal, well-worn and covered in dirt from the rush; and more heart-breaking an actual animal – a small dog, by the looks of it, still locked in its carry cage. Its owners apparently didn't have the time to take him or forgot. It didn't bark when I knelt down; it shrunk back at the sight of me and whimpered softly, trying to squeeze itself into a corner of its cage.

I held out a hand to the steel bars, locked by a rather large padlock. "Hello there," I whispered.

The animal sniffed hesitantly at my outstretched hand and then licked it, evidently satisfied by what it had found out. I smiled and poked softly at its nose.

"What an ugly dog," drawled Maxine.

I shrugged. "Takes one," I replied.

Maxine narrowed her eyes at me and left in a huff. I stuck out my tongue at her retreating back.

I took out a hair clip and started finagling the lock. It clicked after a few seconds of tinkering, and the dog sprang free. He panted, his tongue lolling happily, and after a few grateful barks, left – presumably to find its family.

I silently wished it luck.

Bertolucci's apartment complex was a relatively simple shape – basically, a giant U with a small swimming pool in the middle. His apartment was on the second floor, number 204. We picked up a key from the front office (now vacated, with the news still playing on the television) and made our way upstairs.

So far, we were in the clear. I wondered how quickly the infection would spread to this part of the city.

I chanced a look back at the parking lot and found myself chilled by the silent desolation of it all. The random items scattered about; mementos of families, artifacts from a bygone era before the destruction of everything they had ever known. How many would have their lives shattered by what was occurring tonight?

How many would be shattered in the years to come?

I wondered if they would ever make it, any of them.

"Be a little more focused, please. We're here now," said an annoyed Maxine.

I rolled my eyes. With any luck, I knew of one person who would not survive tonight's events.

We reached Bertolucci's door without any incident. Maxine pushed it open –

Something fell on her, jaws snapping, diseased arms outstretched.

Maxine, to her credit, did not scream. She twisted her body with the momentum and they both fell against the railing. Snarling, Maxine let loose a flurry of jabs against her attacker: two to the short ribs, and one against the jaw, breaking it loose. The punches knocked the creature backwards, its jaw flapping grotesquely.

But it wasn't enough; Maxine was still using fighting tactics that assumed the opponent was a living, breathing person capable of feeling pain. What we faced, here and now, did not fit those criteria. It recovered and ignored its otherwise grievous injuries, continuing to shuffle towards Maxine. Her eyes widened, and she reached clumsily for her weapon.

I moved forward and shot it squarely in the forehead. The infected fell over the railing and landed with a splash in the pool. Glancing to be sure that it was down for the count, I turned towards Maxine.

Maxine stared down at the fallen creature, breathing hard.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

My reply was grabbing her roughly by the shoulder; with a little more force than necessary, I threw her against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

I put my gun against her forehead, the cool steel an abrupt prompt to shut up. She did.

"Are you bit?" I asked, calmly.

Maxine stared at me, her eyes smoldering. "No, of course not! I'd know if I was bit."

"Show me." The barrel pressed further into her forehead; I secretly hoped that it would leave a mark.

"You want me to undress? Buy me dinner first." Her tone was sarcastic, but she complied with my demand. I ran my eyes over her and nodded only when I was satisfied that she was telling the truth.

"Humiliating," she huffed, after the last article of clothing was back in place.

"Necessary," I countered. "You know how it spreads." I chanced a glance inside Bertolucci's apartment, ensuring that it held no more surprises. Maxine nodded once at me and went inside, gun drawn, and began to sweep the place. I followed, close on her heels.

A minute later, the apartment was cleared. I shut the door and we began to look for clues or any leftover info he might have left behind.

It was a sparse apartment, consisting of a small living room with an old television and battered coffee table – multiple files were spread open, along with countless photographs of a single person. Maxine took an interest in them.

His bedroom was similarly vacant, save for a well-worn mattress and night-table. A solitary lamp adorned a corner of his room. I noted that number of open pill bottles, their contents spilled everywhere. Holding one of them to the light for closer inspection revealed that Bertolucci was suffering from insomnia; a recent development, considering that his file had mentioned no history of it before.

I guessed that it had to do with whatever he found investigating Umbrella. Bertolucci was no pushover, either – he had done work in some of the world's most dangerous hotspots, ranging from Syria to Afghanistan. He had always come back more or less mentally intact.

So what could possibly scare a veteran like him?

Considering what was going on now in Raccoon City, I had a pretty good guess.

"Victoria," Maxine called from the living room. "You need to see this."

I put the pill bottle back and joined her in the living room, where she was holding up a picture that Bertolucci had taken.

It was a picture of John.

"Explain," Maxine said.

"I don't recognize him," I lied. "Do you?"

Maxine smiled. "Good, very good. But I know you're lying."

I cocked my head at her and returned the smile. "Oh? And how is that?"

"Because your mouth is open and you're speaking." She reached down to the table and pointed out another photo – this time showing John and I holding hands. "Also, this intriguing photo."

_Damn._

"He's a side project of mine. Not pertinent to the mission at hand. And none of your business."

"Orders from Management, I presume?"

"Who else?" I said, dryly.

"Of course, of course," Maxine said. She seemed to contemplate this for a while, which made me irritated.

"Did you find anything on Bertolucci's whereabouts? Like where he could have gone?"

Maxine just looked at me. "No, nothing. Do you love him?"

The question took me off guard. "What?"

"John. Do you love him?"

_Count to ten. Breathe. _

When thoughts of murder finally faded from my mind I asked, in my most calm tone, "What is the point of this?"

"Orders from Management," was her smug reply.

I cursed. Loudly. "They sent you to keep an eye on me, didn't you?"

"They've always had an eye on you, Victoria. Now, answer the question." She cocked her gun at me.

"He's just another mark. John works for Umbrella. I was tasked with infiltrating their laboratory in Arklay Mountain, and he was the easiest, most accessible way of doing so."

"So, no hidden feelings whatsoever?"

"Of course not," I said, disgust filling my tone. "I'm a professional."

Maxine eyed me and then seemed to make a decision. "Good. I'm convinced."

"Why," I asked, keeping my voice level, "does Management particularly care?"

"They don't," Maxine drawled. "I was just curious. I lied about my orders."

I reached for my gun. Maxine, unfortunately, still had hers out and immediately pointed it at my forehead. "Not so fast, Victoria. We need to have a nice girl-to-girl chat."

I stood still, assessing my options. Not good. Maxine wasn't at my level in terms of marksmanship, but no-one could miss at that range. "What for?"

Maxine sighed. "I need your advice on something."

"And what would that be?"

She looked straight at me, and I could see a deadly earnestness in her eyes. "I'm thinking of retiring."

* * *

"Impossible," was my immediate reply. "You know what happens to agents when they try to leave."

"Yes, I'm very aware," Maxine said. "They try. And nothing else."

"There you have it. Now put the gun down and let's continue on with this mission, shall we?"

Maxine pouted. "You aren't even going to ask why?"

My eyes fixated on the gun, which was still being held in my direction. Her hand was steady despite all the talking. "Okay – why?"

"Oh, it's the most wondrous thing, Victoria. I'm in love."

A few minutes passed.

I said, "Funny joke. Now what's the real reason?"

Maxine frowned. "You don't believe me?"

"Love," I replied, matter-of-factly, "is for children."

"And why's that?" Her voice had gone silky smooth, a dangerous sign. The barrel of the gun seemed to perk up, like a dog sniffing the wind for the scent of meat.

"Because they're the only ones worthy of it."

Maxine made a disappointed sound. "And we're not?"

I laughed. "After what we've done, I think not."

"Spies are people, are they not? Don't people deserve a second chance?"

"Good people do. People like us – well, we get our rewards."

"Yes," Maxine said, her eyes suddenly blazing. "Isn't that right."

I studied her, and sensed that I wasn't really the one she wanted to point the gun at. "What's really going on, Maxine? You weren't even supposed to come on this mission. What are you really after?"

The gun wavered slightly – then she let it drop completely. I didn't move, deciding not to press my luck.

"I told you. I'm retiring."

"When?"

"After this mission, I'm done. I'm leaving and off to see my loved one."

I struggled to comprehend this. Maxine had been in the business longer than I have, and had shown no previous inclination of finding any kind of redemption for the kind of work she did. She scoffed at anything normal, and abhorred the kind of life that civilian people led every day. "Boring and pointless," she often said.

"Who is he?"

"She," Maxine corrected, smiling a little.

That surprised me. Maxine was almost carnivorous in her passion towards her pursuit of men. She'd played escort for celebrities, leaders, despots, - you name it, she's had them all.

As if sensing my doubts, she laughed. "Oh yes, I know. But it doesn't have anything with gender or sexuality, it's just – just her, I guess? Something about her."

Here we were, in the middle of an infected city on the brink of destruction, and I was engrossed in this talk. Something deep inside was hungering for more of what she had to say. I'd always thought that kind of relationship was impossible for people in my business.

But if Maxine could be so lucky . . .

"I didn't have to hide in front of her. No false names, no fake backgrounds – I was simply me."

"Is that why you asked about me and John?"

"Yes. I was wondering if you'd had the same experience as me."

I shook my head.

"I'm sorry to hear that. You should find someone, Victoria."

My mind churned at the possibility of someone like that existing somewhere. It was ludicrous. "I . . . don't trust anyone enough."

"Not even once?"

"Once. A very long time ago," I replied. Maxine waited, but I didn't go any further than that.

"Well, maybe someone will surprise you," Maxine suggested.

I smiled faintly. "Like who?"

Maxine scrunched her face in concentration; I could almost see the gears in her head working out a solution. "Let's see – for you, I see someone honest, almost stupidly so. Bullheaded, brave, loyal to a fault. Someone with a strong sense of justice – ah, maybe a police officer?"

I laughed at that. "Yes, just my luck; me falling hard for an officer of the law."

Maxine stuck her tongue out at me. "I'll be proven right, you'll see."

_Police. _

I stood up straight. Maxine, startled, asked, "Victoria?"

"I know where Bertolucci is."

She instantly became alert. "Where?"

"In a crisis like this, with a horde of infected beating down every door, where would be the most fortified place in the entire city? The safest place to hole up until help arrived?"

Maxine looked puzzled for a moment; then, her expression cleared as it dawned on her. She shook her head ruefully.

"The police station," she said.

"Exactly," I replied. "Raccoon City Police Department. Are you ready?"

She nodded, taking her weapon out.

"With any luck, we'll get there before we run out of time."

Maxine smiled at me. "Maybe you'll meet your special somebody there, Victoria."

"Har-har."I paused, my hand on the doorknob. "I enjoyed our talk, Maxine. And for whatever its worth – I wish you luck. I'll help you even, if we get the chance."

Maxine smiled, but her eyes were sad. "Compassion will get you killed on a night like this, Victoria. But thank you."

I twisted the doorknob –

Something burst through. It wasn't an infected.

I saw claws and razor-sharp teeth, attached to a face that wasn't remotely human. It crawled on all fours, like some monstrous lizard – only there were no scales to cover its mass of slimy muscles. Opening its mouth, an impossibly long forked tongue snaked back and forth looking for us.

"Maxine," I snapped, trapped under the door. It was impossible to move with that thing crawling on it.

Her reply was to empty her clip into the thing's head. Her shots were precise and ruthless; the barrel's flash illuminating flat, cold eyes that reminded me that Maxine was still one of the most dangerous spies I had ever worked with despite our sentimental talk minutes before.

Her bullets all hit their mark, and the thing howled and sprang back through the doorway, howling into the dark. I scrambled from underneath the door and drew my gun. We traded glances to assure that the other was fine, and then moved through the doorway.

I almost wished we hadn't.

Infected were everywhere – the previously empty parking lot was now choked full of the undead, milling about not unlike a herd. I looked down the railing and saw more shuffling on the ground floor, some of the stupider ones falling into the pools where they flailed helplessly, unable to drown.

_What could have led them here? _

My answer came in the form of barking. My stomach churned and I spotted something small in the middle of the horde in the parking lot.

The small dog; the one I had let loose earlier. It must have attracted the horde with its barking. Even now, it barked defiantly at the creatures surrounding it, only to be silenced when about ten of them jumped on top of it.

I looked away, forcing down the bile rising in my throat.

Maxine slammed a fresh clip into her weapon.

"It would appear that we've run out of time."

**Author's Note: The Third Act will be a bit shorter, I think. We're getting closer to the end - or should I say the beginning? Maxine has certainly gotten Ada thinking about the possibility of a life outside being a spy. But now she needs is a little push. One that she'll be getting when she reaches the Raccoon City Police Department and meets with a certain rookie police officer. If she gets there, that is. As always, read, review, and spread the word! **

**Sincerely, **

**ShiningScribbler**


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